


In the Mood for Love

by diwata



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Reverse Chronology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diwata/pseuds/diwata
Summary: “Why did you send for me at the office today?”“I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”Newt, Tina, and the mess they make.





	In the Mood for Love

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely on Wong War Kai's movie. The setting is essentially the same: the majority of scenes occur in HP verse (1920's NYC). In this universe, Leta and Newt didn't have a falling out at Hogwarts and Grindelwald never takes Graves' place in MACUSA, so the events of the movie don't play out. Also, the story is for the most part told in reverse chronological order, save for the final scene, which happens right after the first scene.

The eyes of the lynx bore into him as he inches towards it. The crooked trees guide him, bending forward and pushing him closer with their long branches. The floor of the forest is completely green, covered in fallen leaves, moss, and wild grass. He kneels before the lynx, bowing his head and offering a simple white gold band. The creature looks through him and walks away without taking the ring. Newt feels his spirit laid bare, the metal of the ring burning him. A tall, friendly shadow appears behind him.

“There’s a place where we can be alone,” a fond voice says. He turns.

* * *

Red lipstick stains the rim of his cup. Her old ring sits on a long chain around his neck. She’d been in his chair. He knows by the way the scent of lavender clings to the fabric.

“Feelings can creep up like that.”

“This isn’t real. This is only a rehearsal.”

“I can’t be your Leta - do you even know your Leta?”

* * *

“In the old days, when someone had a secret they didn’t want to share,” Newt begins, knocking back another round of Firewhiskey courtesy of his brother, “Do you know what they did?”

Theseus shrugs, sipping on his spiced mead. “No idea.”  
“You’d have one if you read my book,” Newt retorts. Theseus giggles, which doesn’t suit him and makes him look ridiculous. The magizoologist tells him so before continuing. “They’d venture to the mountains and seek out the lynx. They’d offer something connected to the memory to the lynx, and the lynx would take it, and keep the secret for them.”

His older brother chortles. “Merlin’s beard, what a pain, all that effort for nothing. With all that effort, you could get laid. I’d try to get laid.” Theseus orders another round.

“I think you’re about done,” Newt says.

“Bugger off,” Theseus replies. “Not everyone’s like you! I'm just an average guy, I don't have secrets like you.” He throws a Galleon on the counter for the bartender, taking his drink.

“An average war hero, indeed,” the younger brother chides.

“You bottle things up! Tell me something!” Theseus drunkenly insists, patting him hard on the back.

“I don’t have any secrets.”

Theseus shoves him a little before patting his head. “Come off it, Newton! I won’t tell anybody. I kept your middle name a secret since the day of your _birth_.”

* * *

London’s a rainy, pathetic city. At its best, London is New York City at its worst. Tina hates the drizzle. Tina hates the flavorless food. Tina hates the propriety. She struggles to push through the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron. She finds his flat easily. The most quiet part of Tina’s heart remarks that it feels like coming home. She reclines in his chair, glancing at his typewriter sentimentally. There’s a half-full teacup next to the typewriter, still warm. She drinks from it as she relaxes for a bit, remembering New York summers and the hours spent in his suitcase, wearing his coat and tending to the creatures and sitting in Frank’s oasis.

* * *

“Auror Goldstein, a word after you’re done with the Gnarlak case.” She’s only seen Seraphina Picquery a handful of times in person, but the woman is like a boulder: a powerful force, unmoving, unrelenting. She’s heard stories too, about President Picquery’s Ilvermorny sorting, how she was the first in the century to be offered all four houses. Her request is unusual and sudden. There’s a heavy feeling in her chest that Tina can't shake.

They take her into an interrogation room for hours. “Who is Credence Barebone?” “What is the nature of the relationship between Credence Barebone and Director Percival Graves?” “How long have you been aware of this illicit affair?” “Are you aware that you will likely be put on trial as an accessory to his crime?” They force Veritaserum down her throat. By the end of it, Tina wants to collapse.

She glances at the clock above Director Graves’ desk. She’s ten minutes late. Tina rushes to Apparate onto Newt’s fire escape, but when she arrives, the apartment is completely dark. She swings her legs over the edge.

“If I told you I had an extra ticket, would you leave with me?”

Tina drops Leta’s earrings into the dirty alleyway.

* * *

“If I told you I had an extra ticket, would you leave with me?”

He stares out the window, searching for her silhouette. Six in the evening comes and goes. He reserves himself to reality. He leaves and, with a flick of his wand, the lights in his flat go out, one by one. He doesn’t look back.

* * *

They meet behind a No-Maj bank on the last Monday of October. Autumn fades into winter and the sun sets before she leaves her desk. It’s dark in the alleyway and she can barely make out his features. Light from a solitary lamp post nearby reaches her face, but not his. As it begins to rain, Newt watches Tina’s short hair curl with something in his mouth that tastes like regret. A droplet ambles down his right cheek to his upper lip. It’s warm. When he tastes it, he realizes that he’s been crying. “I didn’t think you’d fall in love with me,” he says, glancing at her left hand, the white gold ring staring back at him.

She smiles sadly, shallow dimples showing. “I didn’t either,” she admits. Their eyes meet. Her dark brown eyes are wet. They remind him of the tea leaves he used to read in Divination class so many years ago, before Leta playfully shoved him and broke his glass accidentally. They remind him of the coffee Tina drinks in the morning before she leaves for MACUSA, dark and potent and dizzying. They remind him, more poetically, of the clear night sky. “I was only curious to know how it started between them.” Newt cringes at this, reminded of their partners’ infidelity. She looks at him confidently and takes his fist with the same hand. “Now I know,” Tina says soberly. Newt stares at her, his gaze flickering from her eyes to her mouth, not unlike the first time they’d met in a crooked tenement corridor.

The gravity between them seems to grow stronger as she continues. Newt tilts forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Tina’s ear. He knows she’s embarrassed by the pink tinge of her ears. Demurely, her hand reaches for the place he’d touched her. It burned. His touch is painfully intimate. Tina vaguely wonders if this is what it feels like to finally be noticed; it isn’t the gentle sunlight she’d felt with Margaret, or the light of a bleeding sunset, it is the heat and intensity of the Sun at noon on the Coney Island boardwalk. “Feelings can creep up like that,” Newt replies, understanding.

“I thought I was in control,” she confesses. His fingers feel for the band. He wishes he could remove it. Tina squints in the darkness, longing to see the curve of his nose and the lines on his face, the early crow’s feet from laughing and loving too hard. She moves her right hand and traces them with familiarity. “I hate to think of your fiancee coming home,” Tina says. Newt’s fingers twitch, still fidgeting with the ring on Tina’s fourth finger. “I wish she’d stay away! I’m so terrible.” She lets out a shaky chuckle.

“Tina, you can’t see me again,” he says after a moment. His hands are clammy, but Tina’s are warm and reassuring. He can’t bring himself to look at her, but she grabs his chin and makes him do it anyway. He studies her furrowed brow, chewed bottom lip, and dark eyes like the Grim in his teacup.

“And hopeless,” she amends. She brings herself closer. Newt can feel her breath on his lips as she relents, “I won’t see you anymore.” Tina withdraws herself from his person, turning casually on her heel before Disapparating into the night.

Newt leans back against the brick wall, sliding down and bending his knees to sit. He lets out a small sob before bursting into tears. “Please,” he croaks, and Tina is by his side immediately.

“Don’t cry!” she exclaims, panicked. “This isn’t real. This is only a rehearsal.” She sits next to him. When he’s calmed down, Tina presses something into the palm of his hand and whispers into his ear, “I don’t want to go home tonight.” They lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of rain and the traffic of No-Maj cars. He takes her naked hand and they watch the sunrise together.

* * *

Tina’s fingers are long and elegant; her nails are short and practical. She has a pianist’s hands. This is what Newt tells her one afternoon as she burrows through paperwork with her No-Maj pen. “Are you a musician?” he inquires, genuinely interested in her past and her childhood in a way that she isn’t used to.

“I did take lessons one summer,” she reflects, nostalgic. “Teacher said my technique was good, but I was lacking depth, whatever that means.” She smiles wistfully, remembering sheet music and scales and her broken metronome. Newt watches her and swallows the lump in his throat. “She said I was decent at sight reading, but I was always better when I played it by ear, you know, just feeling the keys and going for it.”

“I was thinking of purchasing a piano,” Newt remarks. She bursts into giggles, spreading her arms out, almost able to span the width of the room.

“And you were thinking of putting it where?” Tina jokes, grinning and splitting her bottom lip. Her tongue darts out to wipe the blood. Newt swallows again. “Come here,” she demands abruptly. He isn’t sure what force it is that binds him to her word, but he does. Both hands move to grasp either side of his face. Slowly, they move from the center to the sides, investigating his features. Newt wills himself not to flinch.

“Beg pardon. What are you doing?” he asks, aware of the heat rising to his cheeks. He tries to look into her eyes, but they’re tightly shut.

“Playin’ it by ear,” she says nervously, her New York accent stronger than usual. “Ah - just mem’rizin’ you s’all.” Newt smiles at this. Her fingers linger around his mouth and the corners of his eyes, searching for history. He memorizes her touch.

* * *

Newt doesn’t bother knocking before opening the door to Tina’s apartment. He’s greeted by the sound of her gentle humming along to a slow jazz song. “You caught my eye,” she sings softly, holding the metal tin that he recognizes as her steeper. Tina glances at him in acknowledgement, though she feels somewhat mortified to be standing in her kitchenette with her shirt half-untucked and wrinkled at the edges. He’s early ten minutes. With a lazy wave of her wand, the hidden honey pot flies at Tina. She catches it absentmindedly and begins stirring exactly one teaspoon of the sweetener into Newt’s tea.

Newt peeks at her from beneath his long fringe. “Oh, you noticed I take honey in my tea,” he mutters, bashful. He takes the cup from her, fumbling with gratitude.

Tina looks at him with a wry expression. “You notice things if you pay attention.”

* * *

There’s a knock on her door at midnight. Drowsy, she opens the door. “Come over tonight,” Newt whispers to her. Tina crosses her arms.

“Mercy Lewis, what for?”

He smiles sheepishly at her. “The editor's bothering me, he says I'm too slow. I need your help, when can you come?”

Tina rubs her temples. “Not for a while, Mrs. Esposito gave me a scolding earlier tonight.”

Newt’s eyes widen in realization. “What did she say?”

“Rather not say. But she knows we’ve been spending time in each other’s apartments.” Tina chews on the inside of her cheek. “We shouldn't see so much of each other.” Newt hides his eyes beneath his messy fringe, but Tina catches the flash of hurt. Swiftly, he grabs her wrist and pulls her into his flat.

“There’s a place where we can be alone,” he tells her. Newt commits. He brandishes his case, climbs down the ladder, and takes her down with him. Tina looks at his creatures in awe, speechless.

Eventually, she manages a few words. “Why didn’t you tell me about all of this?”

Newt blinks at her, incredulous. “I wonder…” he says snarkily.

“I wouldn’t have arrested you,” Tina says. “I think.”

“You think.”  
“Yeah,” she says, showing her dimpled cheek as Dougal the Demiguise appears behind her to give her a hug. “Isn’t that good enough?”

* * *

Mrs. Esposito approaches her one evening as she’s coming home from work. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mr. Scamander lately,” she says critically, blue eyes sharp as they look at Tina. “It's right to enjoy yourself while you're young. But don't overdo it. His fiancee will be back soon,” Mrs. Esposito chastises.

“Yes, Mrs. Esposito.”

“It’s a pity though. He shouldn’t let her travel so much. A couple should spend time together, don’t you agree?”  
“Of course, Mrs. Esposito.”

“It’s about time you found a man for yourself, Miss Goldstein! Your friend got herself a husband, didn’t she? That’s why she’s moved out?”

“Exactly, Mrs. Esposito.”

* * *

“Why did you send for me at the office today?”

“I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

* * *

“Goldstein, you’ve got a message,” Graves tells her as she returns from her lunch break. She grabs the letter from his desk, missing his skeptical glance. She reads the note, saving it behind the framed picture of her and Margaret at Ilvermorny graduation.

* * *

“Tell me honestly… are you seeing someone else? Are you having an affair?”

“You’re mental! Who put this idea in your head, Newton?”

“It doesn’t matter who. Do you or don’t you?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Yes.”

Newt shrinks in his chair. He lowers his chin into his palms and begins to bawl. Across the table from him, Tina sighs. “Are you alright?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

“It’s just rehearsal,” she says. He dissolves into tears again. She rests her chin on his shoulder. “It’s just rehearsal,” Tina repeats. It is their litany for survival.

* * *

“Where have you got to?” Tina’s tired voice interrupts the quiet of the flat. She is on his bed, dark locks fanning out against the warm brick red of his duvet. Even with cooling charms, the summer heat is unbearable. Newt sees beads of sweat forming on her forehead, making her baby hairs stick to her brow in an endearing way. The first buttons of her powder blue blouse are undone. He looks at the expanse of creamy skin, studying the details of her collarbone and clavicle carefully. She smirks at him. “Well?”

“I’m finishing the chapter on Thunderbirds,” he tells her.

Tina beams at him. Flustered, he smiles back. “You’ve met one, then? I mean, besides me?” she jokes. Newt looks at her blankly. “My Ilvermorny house,” Tina explains.

“Yes.” A beat. “His name is Frank.”

“A majestic name for a majestic creature,” Tina teases. Newt’s cheeks flush red. He tells her that it’s the heat.

* * *

The note, like all of Tina’s notes for Graves, is short, sweet, and apologetic. She tells Credence that Director Graves regrets to inform him that he must cancel their dinner plans tonight because the office is a mess and he has work matters to attend to. Credence doesn’t know that he’s a wizard. Tina finds the sheer amount of rules that Graves is breaking by keeping up this affair comical, but she hands him the gift she purchased for his and President Picquery’s anniversary neatly wrapped regardless.

“You’re so good, Tina,” he compliments her. She tells herself she isn’t charmed. “You should join us.”

Tina rejects his offer politely. “I have to finish this case up, sir,” she says, gesturing to the open file on her desk. As soon as he departs, she closes the folder and Apparates home.

* * *

He measures the distance between them with the length of their shadows, the darkness that is Leta (or maybe, Tina concedes, the darkness that is Margaret) stretching across fractured concrete. Tina decides that she hates this city. She hates MACUSA. She hates living apart from her sister and she hates the International Statute of Secrecy. She hates their evasive childhood sweethearts on the run and she hates the mess they’d left, the mess that she and Newt now have to clean up. She has no words for her melancholy and her rage; words aren’t her strength, not even in casting. Her strongest spells are non-verbal. She doesn’t want to cry, but she knows at this point it’s inevitable. As the first tear escapes, she focuses on the dark, murky water in front of them, how the moonlight reflects off of it. She thinks about her solitary existence, even with Newt next to her. He stands beside her, but she feels that his soul has traveled to find Leta, the imperious beauty that whisked her Margaret away.

“I wonder how it began,” he echoes. “Shall we stay out tonight?”

Tina worries her bottom lip. “I can’t. I can’t say it,” she sobs. In a rare moment of weakness, she turns to him. “I can’t be your Leta - do you even know your Leta?”

* * *

My darling Tina,

I’m sorry I abandoned you wordlessly months ago. After I came back from Egypt, I wasn’t expecting to be called back into the field in India so shortly after. I had to go. I hope you understand. The future here is uncertain. I have to stay, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I hope you understand this, too.

All my love,

Maggie

* * *

Newt and Tina find one another in the cramped and narrow corridor outside their apartments. He squeezes past her to get to his door. She inhales a familiar and warm scent deeply, vanilla and cedar. “Excuse me Mr. Scamander, I was wondering where you purchase your cologne from,” Tina says as he searches the pockets of his vibrant blue coat for his keys. “I have to buy my sister’s husband a present for his birthday, it’s coming up next month.”

Newt regards her, eyes catching a glimpse of her gold earrings. “It’s not cologne,” he replies. “It’s…”

“Sandalwood,” they both say at the same time.

“My fiancee gave it to me as a gift a few months ago,” Newt says. “I’m not sure where you can purchase this particular brand, she says her co-worker bought it abroad.”

“In India?” Tina smiles knowingly.

“And your earrings,” Newt replies. “My anniversary is coming up soon, I think I’d like to buy a pair for Leta.”

“I doubt Leta would want the same earrings as me,” says Tina dryly. “Women care about these things, you know.”

“Perhaps they come in silver?”

“I’d have to ask my - Maggie,” she replies. “They’re hers, after all.” She fiddles with the dangling pearl of her earring, grazing the intricate designs carved into the gold.

“Leta has earrings just like those, actually,” Newt divulges.

“And Maggie smells of sandalwood.” The brown leather of Tina’s Auror coat matches the dark brown of her short locks. She’s white as a sheet, blending in seamlessly with the wall.

“I thought I was the only one who knew.”

Tina takes his arm after she hears Newt sniffle. “I wonder how it began.”

* * *

Tina awakes Sunday morning to the loud clamoring of a No-Maj typewriter. The light of dawn filters in through the white linen curtains, bouncing off the bare white walls of the small studio. A single strip of sunlight falls on her face. She groans, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the heels of her hands. Tina scowls at the empty space beside her. Margaret had disappeared last Monday without warning again, likely called for another excavation in Asia. She stands and stretches. As she washes up and begins to make breakfast, the steady noise from next door quells her growing anxiety. Tina works with what she has, which is mostly just eggs and plain white bread from Jacob’s bakery. Curiosity overtakes her as she listens to the comforting sound of the machine and she finds herself knocking on her neighbor’s door with a sad looking sunny-side up egg and a piece of slightly burnt toast. The golden yolk runs, kissing one corner of the bread lovingly.

The door suddenly swings open. Her neighbor pokes his head out of the doorway, apprehensive, examining Tina’s attempt at breakfast, the chipped china she and Margaret had purchased when they first moved in together, and her navy pajamas. “Um, Miss Goldstein?” he asks finally, still clearly bemused.

“I made a bit of breakfast,” she offers, feeling a bit awkward. “I, ah, heard you were awake, and Maggie’s out again, I was wondering if you and the missus would wanna join me.” He steps aside and ushers her in, taking the plate from her.

“I’m afraid it’s just me,” Newt apologizes as he pulls a seat out for her. “Leta’s been away this past week visiting her family across the pond.” Tina hums sympathetically, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug. Newt dips the toast in the egg yolk and takes a bite. He mumbles something that sounds like a thank you, finding it difficult to make eye contact with her. They eat and drink in silence, taking moments to glance at one another, smile, and immediately look away. Tina thinks of how ridiculous they must look, two fully grown adults eating breakfast in their pajamas with the raw embarrassment of two adolescents.

“I heard you typing earlier,” she tells him candidly.

“Oh, yes, you see, I’m writing a book. A book on magical creatures.”

“Like an extermination guide?” Tina asks derisively, raising a thin eyebrow in disbelief. She suddenly feels suspicious of him. Why would someone write a book on magical creatures in the States of all places? They’d banned the sale and trafficking of all magical creatures years ago and caught all of the perps. She knows this because she’s the one who is responsible for most of their arrests.

“No, a book to educate people about their beauty and help them understand why we should be protecting these creatures instead of harming them.” Newt’s acid tone doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he watches her take a long sip of coffee.

“A book sounds lovely,” Tina says, and she means every word. She avoids the obvious debate at hand. “I even thought of writing one after I graduated from Ilvermorny.”

“Why didn’t you?” Newt plays along.

“I had to survive,” she tells him. His gaze snaps up to meet hers. He drops the plate and the delicate china shatters into pieces. They fix it with a quick _Reparo_ , but a stubborn crack remains in the underbelly of the plate.

“Terribly sorry,” Newt says as Tina leaves the apartment. She skims the new scar with her burnt fingertips and thinks about writing a book.

* * *

 

Newt glances at the brunet in front of him. He tries not to tower over the man, but the difference in height is so great that he can’t help it. He casts a shadow over the short man’s face. Newt recalls that his name is Abernathy from Leta’s stories about her incorrigible boss. “Mr. Abernathy,” he says. “Where would I be able to find one Miss Leta Lestrange?” Newt shakes his hand. “She’s my fiancee,” he adds hastily.

“She’s already left,” Abernathy tells him.

“Really? I had planned to take her out for supper.”

Abernathy huffs in exasperation. “Didn’t she tell you she’s off early this week?”

“The entire week?” Newt gapes at him.

“Yes, the entire week,” he repeats pointedly.

“She never remembers to tell me,” Newt says, smiling sheepishly and processing this new bit of information. “I’ll be off then. Thank you! Goodbye.”

Abernathy shakes his head twice at Newt. “Bye, have fun.” The sarcasm in his voice is evident. Newt pretends it doesn’t sting just a bit.

* * *

“Tina, cancel my plans with Sera for tonight, I’m taking Credence out for dinner,” Mr. Graves says, his voice betraying no hint of remorse or guilt. Tina remembers her first day on the job as second in command of the department. She was so excited with her new promotion that she’d splurged on a huge dinner for her, Queenie, Jacob, and Margaret. Margaret ended up coming late, but Queenie and Jacob were completely jovial and had baked her the most delicious chocolate ganache cake topped with fresh strawberries. Needless to say, she’d certainly pictured her career as something more glamorous than airing the director’s dirty laundry by sending strategic owl notes throughout the week.

“Yes, sir,” she returns, forced to oblige his request. She writes a very thoughtful and warm note to Madam President, explaining that Graves is going to investigate a potential threat to MACUSA security alone tonight and cannot disclose further details for fear of the message being intercepted by one of Grindelwald’s fanatics. As Tina sends the letter, a small carrier pigeon lands on her desk, holding out its leg expectantly. It is a note from Margaret informing her that she was called out on another emergency excursion to ruins in Egypt. _Sorry for missing dinner_ , Margaret writes in her sprawling cursive that only Tina can decipher. Tina throws the letter to the paper mice after she reads it. They squabble with one another over the crumpled wad before tearing each other apart.

* * *

Leta’s been working double shifts at MACUSA at the demand of her boss, Abernathy. She moans about him incessantly to Newt the few moments she stays in the apartment. “The man is a tyrant,” Leta complains. “Talk about a Napoleon complex!” Newt is taken aback by her offhanded Muggle-related comment. He leans over her right shoulder and rests his hand on the small of her back, admiring the elegant detailing of her golden earrings. She’d purchased them from an antique store in Montmartre on one of their many vacations.

“Napoleon? Napoleon Bonaparte?” he asks, amused. “Have you been brushing up on Muggle history?”

Leta looks at him with an unfamiliar glimmer in her eye. “Perhaps,” she supplies ambiguously, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading out to work the night shift. “Everything’s Jake, don’t worry, Newt!” Newt tilts his head, confused. “Just some New York slang I learned from a good friend. I must be quick to work, I don’t want to be late - goodbye!” She’s gone in a blur of black and white.

Newt decides on a simple meal of roasted chicken and potatoes. He repeats the charms mathematically, preparing the food with utmost attention and focus. He makes enough for the two of them, sets the table for the two of them. Newt sits alone as he eats, missing Leta’s laughter with an ache he’s never experienced before. He realizes that this is what it’s like to be completely alone. The chicken is dry and the potatoes are flavorless. He casts a warming charm on the food before he goes to sleep.

* * *

“Newton.” The silky voice disturbs the silence of his suitcase study and the magizoologist looks up right away.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, doting. From his desk, her portrait smiles sweetly at him. Leta drops down into the case and drapes herself across his shoulders, playing with the ends of his messy ginger hair.

“Are you sure we can’t stay somewhere nicer?” Newt avoids her imperious stare. “I am more than willing to put down my share for the apartment. Isn’t that why you advised me to find employment here?”

“Yes, dear,” he mumbles. “This is only temporary. I promise.”

“I start at MACUSA tomorrow,” she tells him without an ounce of excitement. “Some low-level secretarial job, I believe. I met one of our neighbors in passing during my interview, actually.” Newt gazes at his fiancee as she lights up, talking about her new colleague. “She’s absolutely lovely, Newt, oh, and her… partner,” Leta stumbles over the word, “works at MACUSA too, as an Auror. She was waiting for her to finish her shift. We absolutely must have dinner with them.” Her dark eyes are sparkling.

“Darling, what was her name?” Newt asks, meaning to acquaint himself with his neighbors after he’s done with his notes on the Demiguise.

“Margaret,” she responds breathily. Newt attempts to ignore the way the name rolls off her tongue so smoothly, as if she is savoring every syllable. Leta doesn’t notice how he winces at the sound. She smiles back at her photograph before climbing up to the apartment.

* * *

Margaret comes and goes like the wind. This is a scientific fact, like conservation or action-reaction or transfiguration. The steady sound of falling rain outside intensifies the aching sadness in her chest. On Saturday afternoons like this, Margaret would usually drag Tina out for a quiet dinner at her favorite No-Maj restaurant. She’s learned to not resent Margaret’s frequent absences over the years, but Tina ponders whether it’s completely normal to be engaged to someone and still yearn for their affection.

Tina loves Margaret. This is another scientific fact. Tina adores her golden coiffed hair, her vibrant red lipstick and the stains it leaves when she kisses her. She loves kissing Margaret and loves holding her and loves being indecent with her. Tina loves cradling Margaret’s anger, loves putting inside of her, loves when Margaret lays in her arms even though her heart is worn from contemplation and condemnation. Sometimes, she feels ragged like this, like she’s hanging from her fiancee’s laundry line and fading from excessive washing and use. But Margaret would never break her; she couldn’t. Tina is an Auror, second in charge at the Major Investigations Department. Tina has had to work for everything she’s ever gotten her whole damn life. Tina is a Thunderbird. Tina is a fighter.

Tina is strong. This is not a fact yet, but she’s willing to test the hypothesis. Margaret comes home later that week and showers Tina in gifts, mostly new dresses and jewelry that Tina doesn’t care for and Margaret will end up using anyway. She smells sweet, like the sandalwood soap she brought home from her latest travels. Tina has half the mind to put her skills to use and track Margaret on her next trip, but decides against it. Instead, she descends upon her heart-shaped lips like an angry storm. Tina bites down on Margaret’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Margaret hisses and Tina smirks in response. “Being with you makes the flame burn good,” she says. They don’t sleep that night.

* * *

“So it’s decided!” an elderly woman declares, shaking hands with the slender woman in front of her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Esposito. I’ll send word soon, my friend and I should be moving in by the end of next week,” she replies. Mrs. Esposito insists on feeding her and drops a few comments about her weight while she nods her head in agreement despite her discomfort. “Sorry, Mrs. Esposito, I’ve gotta go, my lunch break’s almost over. Thank you again.”

As the young woman, Tina, walks away, her landlady calls after her, “And tell your younger sister congratulations on the baby!” Tina ambles down the stairs distractedly.

A man bumps into her with his elbow, though she figures she can’t be completely angry because the staircase is very narrow. She shrugs it off instead, but not without giving the man a stern glare. “So sorry,” he says, and Tina rolls her eyes. Damn European tourists.

He climbs up the stairs and knocks on the landlady’s door. She scrutinizes his appearance: his suit two sizes too small, his inexplicable tan in the middle of winter, and his suspicious looking suitcase. He smiles at her, but it more closely resembles a grimace. “Hello Madam, my name is Newton Scamander. Have you a room to let?”

* * *

He feels her breath on his lips once more. He cups her face with his hands. “Can you keep a secret?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
